making pancakes all the time?
Enough, I told myself. What’s the matter with you? You’ve got him tried and convicted before you’ve even heard his case.
The phone rang in my hand. I jumped.
Don’t even answer it, Charlie’s voice urged. Just grab Molly and get out. But I didn’t listen to him; I answered, hoping to hear Nick.
A long inhale. An exasperated exhale. Then the husky, insistent voice. “Where is he, sugarplum? For godsakes, tell me. Is he on his way?”
I made my voice sturdy. “What do you want, Beverly?” “I think I’ve been clear, dumpling. I want Nick. Where is he? Tell me.”
I didn’t answer.
“Look, honeybun. This is serious. He was supposed to be here. A long time ago. He hasn’t shown up, and I really can’t wait much longer.”
“And I should care about that because ...?”
“Because I’m worried. The roads are terrible. What time did he leave? He was supposed to be at my condo—”
“Do you two always get together in the middle of the night?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? But often, yes. We’re both available around the clock, and he’s never kept me waiting before. Not like this, anyway. Look, cupcake, if he calls, tell him not to go to my condo. I can’t wait here anymore. I’ll be at the Institute. In my office. Got it?”
The Institute? I began to say that it was an odd place for a late-night rendezvous. But she’d already hung up.
FIFTY-THREE
THERE WAS NO DOUBT ANYMORE, IF THERE HAD EVER BEEN. Nick had definitely gone to meet Beverly Gardener. He’d snuck out of bed with me in the middle of the night and driven back to town to be with her. It was incredible, hard to absorb, and humiliating but apparently true.
What was I going to do about it? What could I do? I was stuck out in Chester County with Molly, who was sound asleep.
After the phone call, I was spitting mad. I sat listening to sounds of the night, fuming. Feeling like a chump. The more I sat, the angrier I got. The isolation didn’t help. Was that the wind howling or the cry of a hungry wolf? Was it a tree branch scraping the window or the claw of some night creature?
Stop it, I told myself. No one’s out there. It’s just your nerves. Still, I walked around in the dark, checking doors and windows, making sure they were locked. I checked on Molly every few minutes, comforted by the steady sound of her breath. I went up to the loft and peered out the window, feeling trapped and frantic. Furious at Nick for bringing us there, at myself for having come. Up in the loft, I stared out at the night. I lay down, tried to sleep, pictured Nick with Beverly, sat up, and stared out at the night again. I paced, went down to the main room, back up to the loft. Despite myself, I could see what he saw in her; the woman had charisma. She was a celebrity. But I asked myself over and over why Nick had taken us there if he’d wanted to be with Beverly. I had no answers and eventually got sick of asking. All I knew was that I wanted out. I wanted to go home.
Finally, the sky began to lighten. It was almost dawn, and Nick was still gone. Downstairs again, I stopped pacing and stared at the front door. What was I supposed to do? Stay there all day and wait? The front door gave no reply.
But Charlie did. “Get out, Miss Zoe!” I heard him wheeze. “Hurry up. Leave before it’s too late.”
I didn’t argue. I wanted to get the hell out of there, not wait around to hear excuses and lies. But how was I supposed to leave? Nick had taken the car. Should I call a cab? Did they even have cabs way out in Chester County? At the crack of dawn?
Finally, as the sun rose higher, I’d had enough. I wasn’t helpless, didn’t have to stay there waiting. I had options. The Volvo was gone, but Molly and I had legs. There were snowshoes in the shed. We could walk back to Philadelphia if we had to, or at least to a highway. I’d take the cell phone, and when we found a main road I’d call Susan and tell her where we were. She’d come and get us. Good. I felt better already; I wasn’t trapped. I had a plan.
I gathered my clothing in a rush, but